


Mosaic

by thebookishdark



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookishdark/pseuds/thebookishdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fall apart, but somehow they find themselves put back together again</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mosaic

It goes like this—Foggy closes their tab at Josie’s, goes to his fancy new corner office, Karen goes back to Ben’s—her’s, now, she’s been told, hasn’t quite accepted—desk at the _Bulletin_ , Matt goes back to the empty office. He lets himself feel every frayed edge, every loss, and sits and cries. He has nothing to go back to, he can’t fight in Stick’s war, Elektra buried, and Nelson & Murdock—Foggy and Karen—too far out of his reach. The guilt he feels is a mix of putting them in danger and trying to keep them out of it. Foggy understands, can move on, knowing _why_ , but Karen… Karen deserves to know the truth, that she’s been in danger from the start because of him, is still and _will_ be in danger _because of him_.

He sits. He pulls himself together. He covers the cracks he can still feel, deep inside, and stands up. He goes home, grabs the helmet, calls Karen. He expects her to not pick up, say no, hang up as soon as he asks, but she says she’ll meet him.

She shows up, he knows as soon as he’s a block away. He focuses on her heartbeat getting louder as he gets closer. He opens the door, steels himself, pulls out the mask and tells her. He waits. She tells him to get out and he starts to go, gets as far as the door before she takes a breath, words forming on her lips, and he stops, waits.

“Does Foggy know?”

His hand is on the doorknob, he takes a breath, lets it out, Karen’s still waiting—

“Yeah, he knows.”

She doesn’t say anything, sits on the desk, takes a deep breath. Matt takes his leave. Karen doesn’t stop him.

Matt goes on alone, after that. He doesn’t even try to resurrect his career, Elektra left him some money, apparently, in a bank account. He lives at night, no personal distractions, only the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

\--

Karen sits for a while, in the old office, then calls Foggy, tells him to pick up some whiskey or cheap wine or whatever he wants, really. She needs to get this off her chest. As soon as she shows up at Foggy’s apartment she breaks down, not just about Matt but about all of it, every shitty thing that has happened since she got to New York. She sits there and lets it all out, and Foggy holds her, and they get drunk. She sleeps on the couch that night, wakes up in the morning and actually manages to talk about it over coffee and eggs. She talks about Frank, about being kidnapped and accidentally uncovering Blacksmith, and she talks about Matt—Daredevil—well, they’re the same, now, always have been, apparently. She asks Foggy how he found out, she connects the dots with her own timeline. It’s quiet and then, hushed—

“You still care about him, don’t you?”

“I loved him.”

“Me too.”

\--

They set up weekly dates, still trying to be friends after everything, and it’s nice to be able to make jokes or references to some of the messed up shit they’ve been through without worrying people or having to explain it away. The dates turn into, well, dating. It seems natural, at the time, the same thing they’re already doing, really, but with a different label and some kissing. It doesn’t work out. They realize, too quickly, that this might have worked once upon a time, but it’s kind of hollow without Matt as a third. Karen remembers back to a night of pool at Josie’s where Matt said that Foggy enjoyed when it was the three of them together, and really, that’s the best way they work. Even when she was dating Matt it felt a bit lacking, but she couldn’t place the feeling. Now, though, she knows exactly what it is, and she wishes they could’ve had this before the Punisher case, before everything went south, and Matt distanced himself. They keep their weekly dates, stay friends, but they don’t try to force something that makes both of them miss something they couldn’t have.

\--

It’s months later, Karen and Foggy have seen neither hide nor hair of Matt. They hear about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, still active, staying to the shadows, but nothing of Matt. Honestly, continued news of Daredevil is the only way they know he’s still alive, hasn’t been killed by whatever criminal organization he’s fighting from night to night. That is, until Matt makes a mistake, barely gets away, and knows he’s going to pass out as soon as he loses the last bit of adrenaline. He doesn’t have Claire to fall back on, going back to his own loft would mean bleeding out on his own floor, and he can’t do that, not yet, not tonight. He ends up at Foggy’s. He’s almost through the window when he realizes there’s a second person in the apartment, and it really attests to Matt’s condition that he didn’t notice before he was sliding inside, on the roof, or even blocks ago. He breathes, listens to the voices drifting from the small kitchen, relieved that it’s Foggy and Karen, then curses as his knee gives out and whether he wants to or not he is inside Foggy’s apartment, landing with a dull thud in the hallway. He’s only conscious for long enough to notice that Karen’s grabbed a knife before investigating, feel Foggy’s hands on him, voice worriedly calling his name, then everything gets dull and muffled before he finally passes out.

He comes to on Foggy’s couch, in borrowed boxers, stiff as all hell. His awareness filters back in slowly—the fabric of the couch, the smell of coffee, hushed voices from the other room, and finally a wave of pain. He must make a noise while trying to sit up because suddenly Karen and Foggy are in the room, telling him to lie back down, they didn’t have Claire yell at them for calling her then talk them through how to stitch up several wounds and wrap broken ribs for Matt to ruin it all by _sitting up too quickly_.

What makes him lie back down is as much a head-rush as it is shock at the concern in their voices. He expected anger, and there _is_ a tinge of anger in their voices, their posture, but the twin sighs of relief when his head hits the pillow speak volumes.

He’s handed a glass of water and two aspirin are pressed into his other palm. He takes them, gratefully, and when the water is gone he clears his throat and attempts at levity—“you got any food in this place?”—but it still comes out rough and stilted, his smile strained. 

Foggy laughs, squeezing his shoulder gently, standing and walking into the kitchen. “Sure buddy, you’ve got a choice between leftover Thai or eggs, that’s all I’ve got.”

The smile is soft and real this time. “I’m surprised you even have eggs.”

“What can I say, I’m a provider, I cook for people all the time, don’t I Karen?”

“If by cook you mean order takeout then yeah, you’re a real chef.”

It’s more comfortable after that, Foggy makes scrambled eggs. It’s four in the morning and everyone’s tired but it almost feels like old times, working on a case together. Matt misses this—misses them—hasn’t let himself miss much of anything, lately, poured himself into the shadows and tried so hard to become them. It was killing him, would kill him, eventually, except in a haze he chose to follow Foggy’s heartbeat, only thoughts being _safe_ and _help_. He knew Foggy was both, would always be both no matter how much he tried to push him away, they would always be _something_ to each other. He lets himself feel it all.

“I’m sorry.”

The room falls silent. He doesn’t elaborate. Nobody responds. He can feel it though, they’re all thinking it too, for one reason or another. He falls asleep again before anyone says anything, too tired and sore to put it off. When he wakes up the second time, Foggy’s gone. He stirs and Karen tells him that he had to go to work. She can work from here, though, has her laptop and research scattered around her. She chews her pen and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and it’s so familiar that Matt _aches_.

“Karen.”

She puts the pen down, looks up at him.

“I meant it earlier, that I was sorry, for all of it, involving you in the first place, not telling you earlier, for trying to push you both away—“ he stops, collects himself, then continues more softly, “—It’s going to kill me, one way or another, I wanted to save you from that.”

“I’m my own to save, Matt.”

“I know, but when you were in danger, kidnapped by the Hand, _because of me_ , I couldn’t handle it, if anything had happened I—“

“If you hadn’t been there in the first place I wouldn’t have lived long enough to be in danger.” It’s soft, and she’s smiling a little sadly. Matt and Foggy had saved her so many times, gave her a job, a family, people to fall back on, and the fact that Matt can’t see that, can only think about what _Daredevil_ has done, is tragic. “I wouldn’t have lasted this long without you, without Foggy, and if it wasn’t Fisk that got me it would’ve been something else. I don’t know when to stop chasing something.” She laughs a little, at that. “It gets me into more trouble than even you know, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt holds out his hand and she grips it, squeezing for a second, before standing decisively. “I’m grabbing a beer. You want anything from the kitchen?”

“Water, and maybe some more aspirin.”

“You got it.” She leans over and kisses his forehead on her way past him.

\--

When Foggy comes back, he finds Matt and Karen playing Go Fish with the old deck of braille cards he had bought back in college mostly for drinking games.

“Hey Foggy.”

“Want us to deal you in? Matt’s kicking my ass, I’m half convinced he’s cheating.”

“I swear, I’m not.”

Foggy smiles, dropping his bag against the wall and taking off his shoes. “Yeah, deal me in. Beers?”

He’s already in the kitchen but he gets two affirmations from the other room, so he grabs three bottles from the fridge and heads back out. He sets them down on the side table they’d pulled over to the couch and sits next to Matt.

They play for a while, drinking, laughing loosely and cursing at each other lightheartedly when cards are stolen. Foggy wonders though, why Matt hasn’t tried to get out of here before he could even walk properly. For once he’s not itching to get back onto the street before he’s even ready to fight.

Matt nudges him with his shoulder, “What is it Fog?”

“It’s just. You’ve been here for a whole day, Matt, you usually try to get back into the suit in half that time. You didn’t even rest when you got _shot in the head_ , so, what’s different?”

Matt shrugs. “Your neighbor three doors down,” he indicates the direction with his beer bottle, “likes listening to the police scanner. I’ve been keeping an ear out. But there’s nothing… big, y’know, happening, the Hand’s gone quiet, most of the gangs are laying low with Frank still out there somewhere. It’s… quiet.”

“Well,” Foggy lifts the last of his beer into the air, “here’s to quiet.”

They keep playing, switching games whenever they feel like it, order some takeout, and it’s comfortable, almost as if none of this had ever happened. It all comes crashing down when Matt freezes, head tilting slightly, and drops his cards. It takes him a few tries to get standing, but as soon as he does he locates his suit folded against the wall, and starts pulling it on.

“What is it?”

“Got a bit from a passing cruiser, sounds like they’ve got a lead on Frank.”

“Matt you’re in no condition to fight—“

“I just have to check it out, I’ll come back.”

\--

It’s late when Foggy’s door buzzes. Karen is asleep in the bed, having decided she wanted to stay to get any news about Frank she could, still cares about him for all she said he was dead to her. He stumbles out to the front hallway and presses the intercom. “H’llo?”

“It’s me.”

“Matt?” He buzzes him in and waits, yawning.

It’s not long until there’s a quiet knock on the door—and Foggy checks, has to make sure, knows it would probably be easy to mimic a voice over a scratchy building intercom—and he opens it, a clearly exhausted Matt on the other side.

“Thought you were gonna come in the window.”

Matt smiles, softly. “Nah, didn’t want Karen to pull a knife on me again.”

Foggy laughs a bit, at that. “She still might, do you know what time it is?”

Matt shrugs and his face falls a bit. “Late.”

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I’m going back to bed. Whatever you found out can wait until the morning.”

“I’ll just—“ Matt moves toward the door and Foggy catches his wrist.

“Stay.” It’s quiet, tentative. Foggy’s not sure Matt’ll even go for it but he knows he wants Matt here, that Karen wants Matt here, and hell, he’s even pretty sure _Matt_ wants to be here, only isn’t through some sort of martyr bullshit.

“Okay.” It’s only an exhale, like he was trying to convince himself to say no, that he _should_ say no, but couldn’t.

Foggy doesn’t let go of his wrist. Instead, he gently leads him toward the bedroom. Matt follows. When they get to the door he pauses and whispers, “Foggy.” And it’s so full of emotion, as if this is some great turning point, something he can’t come back from, won’t be able to distance himself anymore.

“Matt? Foggy?” Karen’s pushed herself up onto one elbow and is watching them through the darkness. “Get ov’r here.”

“You heard the lady.” Foggy smiles softly and Matt lets himself give in, to this, to them. He twists his wrist so he can squeeze Foggy’s hand for a second, before pulling away to shrug out of his coat. He can hear the uptick of Foggy’s heartbeat when he finishes unbuttoning his shirt and starts undoing his belt. It’s nothing new, Foggy’s heart speeding up or skipping a beat when he’s watching Matt, but it’s never been something Matt has let himself acknowledge. Now, though, it’s almost too much. When he’s down to his boxers, he turns back to Foggy, back to the bedroom, and makes himself breathe.

It almost doesn’t feel real, but at the same time too crisp and clear, sliding into bed, being surrounded by Karen and Foggy. The sheets even smell like them, and he wonders how often Karen’s spent the night here. It doesn’t matter to him, really, if Foggy and Karen have found themselves a safe haven in each other. He wishes them the best. He almost doesn’t want to sleep, wants to soak up every moment he can, every brush of skin, every sound, every single thing, but he finds himself lulled by how comfortable it is, surrounded by all of it, that he sleeps more soundly than he has in months.

\--

Sun filters into the room, and it’s warm—too warm with three bodies so close together, really, but none of them want to move quite yet. Who knows when they’ll have this again, if they’ll have this again. Even without the heartrates and breathing patterns Matt would be able to tell that Karen and Foggy were awake through the deliberate yet light, almost casual, touches. The nudge of a knee here, a trace of fingers there, until Matt just thinks _screw it_ and reaches out to kiss whoever is in front of him—Foggy, of course, but the point is it doesn’t matter which one he’s kissing at any given time, not really—and it’s surprisingly easy. It has none of the pent up emotion that it might have had any other morning than this, a morning filled with light and warmth and pure _ease_. It doesn’t last long, Matt and Foggy pulling away to breathe, to take it all in, but they don’t go far.

Foggy laughs a little, quietly and privately, in the space between them. “God, I’ve been waiting for that pretty much since I met you.”

“I know,” Matt whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Karen shushes him, nosing his jaw behind his ear. “You’re here now, so no apologies, just relax for once.”

Matt shivers a little and turns his head to kiss Karen. Foggy takes the opportunity to kiss the open expanse of Matt’s neck, trailing a hand down his side to rub a thumb at the elastic of his boxers, and Matt moans a little at the promise.

Of course it’s then that Foggy’s phone goes off, and the disappointment in the air is palpable. Foggy rolls over and checks to see if it’s important enough to not let it go to voicemail and groans.

“It’s my boss, probably about court this afternoon, I have to take it.” Foggy slips out of bed and picks up the phone, moving out of the room. His voice is soft background noise, and Matt could hear it if he really wanted to, but he’s distracted by Karen running a hand across his chest and humming contemplatively.

“He’s probably going to have to go into the office, what do you think, give him a little show when he comes back, give him something to think about all day?” She’s smirking against his neck by the time she finishes the thought and Matt has to smile at the suggestion, too.

He starts listening to Foggy’s conversation and whispers back to Karen, “He just promised to be there in an hour.”

“Showtime.” Karen carefully pushes Matt flat on his back and straddles him, avoiding all his major injuries. She leans over him and Matt tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her jaw, and leads her down into a kiss. There’s a sharp intake of breath at the doorway and Matt pulls away slightly to smile at Karen. The only warning Matt gets that Karen’s up to something is a quick uptick in heartbeat before she grinds down on him.

Matt moans and Foggy curses, suddenly finding himself next to the bed and muttering “I don’t have time for this.”

Karen sits up to smirk at Foggy, still rolling her hips rhythmically. “Do you want to be a successful and punctual lawyer or do you want to kiss me?”

He bites his lip, conflicted, but one of Matt’s hands disappears under Karen’s borrowed t-shirt and Foggy practically whimpers when Karen drops her head back.

“Fuck it.” Foggy rushes forward, kissing her, running a hand down her back until it rests on her lower back, so he can feel every roll of her hips. When he pulls back he smiles fondly at Karen and Matt in turn then sighs. “I do have to go, though.”

Karen rolls off of Matt and lets herself sprawl on the bed, “The plan failed, Matt.”

“You don’t have to stop on my account, just be careful of those stitches.”

Matt smiles almost sadly at him. “Foggy you should be here, the first time at least. It wouldn’t feel right, otherwise.”

“Yeah,” he leans down and kisses him softly, “will you still be here tonight?”

“You know I can’t promise that, Foggy.”

“Fine, just. Promise you _will_ come back, you won’t try to run from this?” Foggy’s hand is running through his hair, and Matt doesn’t want to make any promises he can’t keep but—

“I promise.”

Foggy kisses him again, and it feels binding, somehow, and Matt knows that if he breaks this promise it’ll break _him_.

“Okay.” Foggy lifts up and leans over Matt. “Karen?” Karen pushes herself off the bed enough so Foggy can reach her without putting any pressure on Matt’s injuries, kissing Foggy before flopping down again.

It’s quiet, while Foggy gets dressed and ends up rushing out only a little late, with a “Love you!” called on his way through the door. Matt and Karen laugh, wondering how long it’ll take Foggy to realize he’s even said it, but they both know that it won’t be a regret, really, because everything is so clear now that they’re able to look directly at it, that it’s not a revelation or a surprise, but a million tiny pent up moments all bursting forth into this one moment, where they’re all together, finally. They may not have it all figured out yet, between the vigilantism and their jobs, but they know how they feel, at least.

\-- 

Foggy emerges from the subway to a text notification.

_From: Karen  
We love you too, you know_


End file.
